


Come Sail Away

by sagiow



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Future Fic, Plans For The Future, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 09:32:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18192836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagiow/pseuds/sagiow
Summary: Even the greatest celebration would never do for such a once-in-a-lifetime event





	Come Sail Away

**Author's Note:**

> (I know you're all singing the Styx song now :P)

« MARY ! »

His call echoed from the hall, his loud voice rising above the rapid stomps of his feet; she only had time to draw the coverlet up before he burst in the room, the doors’ hinges seriously tested by the violence of his entry. Breathing heavily, his hair tousled, his uniform askew, he quickly located her: she sat on the bed’s edge, an open book in her lap, the day’s last rays illuminating it as they stole through the lace curtains, and his face grew alight at the sight with the brightest of joys.  

“Mary! It’s over!” he cried. “The war! It’s finally over!”

It was her turn to gasp, and he let out a booming laugh as he crossed the room in three strides to gather her in his arms, crushing her to him and almost tipping her back on the bed with the strength of his giddiness. “Wh-” was all she managed to utter, before he took her face in his hands and kissed her exuberantly. When he pulled away, it was her turn to strain for air and clarity, as he hopped to sit by her side, one hand firmly clasped in his.

“Johnston surrendered!” he explained. “After Lee and Liddell two weeks ago, now that sonofab- sorry- has finally given up! He surrendered to Sherman in Durham! 30,000 men! 30,000 less to fight the Union and fill our hospitals! With that, the Confederates are all but done, their Glorious Cause finally lost! And you know what that means? It means you are finally going to make an honest man out of me. No,” he pursued, seeing her mouth open, “you said you’d marry me the day the war would be over, and today, the war is over _, ergo_ , we’re getting properly married, with a reception worth the name! There’s so much to celebrate now, everyone will be invited, of course! Even Hale, that intolerable jacka – apologies! As I was saying, it'll be the grandest of receptions: nothing short of the nicest hotel in Washington City will do, nothing but the best chef west of France. We'll ask Emma to help, I'm sure her mother will step over herself to give her a hand at planning the year's greatest event and secure some goodwill amongst the victors... That soul-sucking rationing will be finally be over, so Champagne _, filet mignon,_ _foie gras_ … Why, _Pommes à la Parisienne_ , while we’re at it! Henry would approve, and anything for my best man. Or officiating minister, perhaps, and Samuel as best man, would this not be better? He _is_ the one who called me out for my foolishness back when you were ill, and he _has_ been my Executive Officer at the hospital ever since he enlisted… Yes, you’re right, of course, Dr. Sam is the right choice, and Hopkins can officiate. I expect you’ll want a church? George Washington’s own Christ Church, or another? Whichever one you prefer, you know where I stand on _bondieuseries,_ but I’ll gladly go through all the rites you request… But once that nonsense is over – yes, nonsense, but I’m not arguing with you about that now - most importantly, after that, we’ll have our honeymoon. Oh, there will never have been a more deserved vacation in the history of work! We’ll go to Europe, of course. The Grand Tour. Or would you prefer to focus on Italy? The art, history and culture are unparalleled. Or perhaps something more exotic, like Moorish Spain? Oh, no, I know better, Constantinople! And Egypt! I’ve always wanted to see the Sphinx and the pyramids. But now I see you frowning. Before you say it, I know it’s far, and that’s the point. Far away from Alexandria, from Virginia, America and everything that’s been our life so far. It will be a long trip, but it will be wonderful. We’ll book the best steamship, first-class service. And we’ll make it worthwhile. I’m thinking one month for every year of this godda- ugh, pardon- war. So a good five months. There you go frowning again… After all the sacrifices we’ve made, you’re right, that’s nowhere near long enough. Double it. We’ll spend the whole winter by the Mediterranean, basking in a sun that does not come coated in suffocating humidity, while we gorge ourselves with wine, olives, lemons and all matters of goat stuff. What say you, my love?”

After so many blocked interjection attempts, she now held her tongue, wondering whether the tide of words would ever recede or if another storm surge would hit, as she knew he was quite capable of; but no, he now truly remained quiet, waiting upon her answer with wide eyes and baited breath. She tilted her head. “Have you been experimenting with coca leaves again?”

Jed scoffed loudly. “No, no substance on Earth could ever bring this kind of excitement in a man! This is happiness made flesh, opportunity bursting with life! Exhilarated freedom, dearest heart! But there _might_ have been a few toasts proposed to our victory back at the hospital... Besides, I’m all out of coca. Albert promised me to send me more in his last letter.”

“I wish he would not: it tastes so foul and I’m sure it’s potentially dangerous, no matter what your friend says. If you need stimulation, I would rather you limit yourself to Vin Mariani, or better yet, good strong coffee, especially now that we might finally be able to get some worth the name.”

“Back to Italy we go, then!" he exclaimed. "They have the greatest coffee in the world. You’ll love it, a small cup of _espresso_ on a _piazza_ next to some Baroque fountain or ancient Roman ruins, mandolin melodies and the smell of _sfogliatella_ filling the air. So what do you think?”

She allowed herself to mentally conjure this romantic image for a brief instant, before a shuffle under the blanket at her side made her return to the reality of the very American room and its occupants. “Well… I think there is someone who might disagree, and think very poorly of coffee, wine and long transatlantic trips.”

She placed her hand on the lump and Jed frowned dramatically. “What is the meaning of this?! I speak of whisking you away to a year of glorious _farniente_ , Miss Phinney, and all the while you conceal intruders in your bed?”

Mary shrugged. “Well, you’ve been spending so much time in the hospital recently, I’ve had to find myself a more attentive companion.”

“Not a man, I hope!” he gasped in affront.

“As a matter of fact, yes. A kinsman of yours, just as clever and inquisitive, but with a much fairer disposition.”

“What?! Impossible! I am a lamb! I demand to meet my rival!” He poked the bulge, eliciting a muffled chuckle. “Show yourself, Sir!”

With a flourish, he pulled the sheet down to reveal a beaming toddler. “A-boo!” the child cried, arms raised in excitement over his successful surprise.

“Ah HA! We meet at last! I’ll grant you this, Milady, you have chosen quite the tall, dark and handsome gentleman to share your bed, and such fine looks can indeed only be a Foster trait. Name thyself, ruffian!”

“Papa!”

“Papa? I know no man of that name! The lady is mine, Sir! I demand satisfaction for this grave insult. Choose your weapon! What, beards, you say? A fool’s choice, considering how inexistent yours is! But very well! Brace yourself! Tally-ho!”

He buried his face in the child’s neck, covering it with tiny kisses as he tickled his ribs. The boy squealed in joy, squirming and kicking his legs to get away from the offending whiskers, with no luck, until Jed pulled away.

“That was well fought. What have you to say for yourself, Sir?”

“ ‘gain, Papa!”

“Again? Have you no mercy? I now see, too late, that these eyes do shine with a dark ruthlessness much too familiar. The dreaded Phinney gleam, against which I am completely helpless! _En garde,_ then! ”

Again, he plunged to tickle the boy’s belly, the child’s laughter reaching a fever pitch. With both hands, he grabbed fistfulls of his father’s hair to at once push him away and never let him go, which drew a barely contained hiss of pain.

“I surrender! You have bested me! I lay down my weapon!” With a loud squeak of bedsprings, Jed rolled backwards on the bed at the boy’s feet, who promptly scooted up to tumble onto his chest. “Oof! _Le coup de grâce_ , _maintenant! Pitié_ , _Monsieur_ Foster! Very well, I give up, you may have the pleasure of the lady’s arm on our tour. And her heart, I expect. I never stood a chance to keep it after such a fetching young fellow entered the picture. Treat her well, son.” With this, he exhaled dramatically, and let his head roll sideways, tongue lolling, to the child’s continued hilarity.

Mary eyed him sternly, her feigned annoyance doing precious little to hide her amusement. “Are you quite finished? I had just gotten him to settle down and now you’ve wound him up again.”

“No, sweet Mother Hen, I’m just getting started. Our life, our real life, our family, is just getting started. I’m winding us all up for it to be euphorically happy and yes, at times, completely silly.” He shifted his son in his arms, readjusting the twisted nightshirt in the process, so he fit snuggly against him. “And don’t start fretting about Elias: there shall be plenty of time for him to sleep later, such as during our crossing. I know he’ll bear the travel just fine, and it will be a much more positive environment for him abroad than in this war-ruled town; he probably won’t remember any of it later on, but he’ll enjoy himself then and there. Maybe not the olives, but the goats, surely.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know, Jed, it’s a terribly long trip for such a young child…”

“Come now, he’s a sturdy lad. Look how he’s got me pinned down: I’m completely overpowered. Eli, give Papa a hug,” he whispered to the boy, who immediately squeezed him tightly, his tiny arms growing taut from the strength of his embrace. “Ow, my little Hercules, smiting the Nemean Lion!...oooh, Greece! We must stop in Greece! Athens, Olympia, Delphi…”

“Stop adding stops!” Mary laughed. “It’ll cost a fortune!”

“Stop being so rational! Had you remained so rational two years ago, we’d probably still be politely courting, and gone half-mad from it, too.” He reached out to her, placing his hand above her bent knee, and squeezed her thigh through the fabric. “Check rationality out just this once again, Mrs. Foster. We’ve been so sensible and infuriatingly proper ever since, let us have this trip. And as for money, I want nothing to do with the cursed plantation, so selling it should cover the rent handsomely on quiet, charming little villas near crumbling medieval villages or remote, sea-swept hamlets.”

He knew her well enough to rest assured that this image would prove irresistible. “But what of after?” she asked, a last ditch attempt at prudence. “What shall we do, once this little escapade is over?”

“Love, we’ve just spent four years not knowing what “after” would be, whether the war would ever end and what would be left of our country when it finally did. There were even times we thought we might lose it, and everything along with it! But, together, we’ve managed to hold on, make the best we could from it, and pull through brilliantly," he said, rubbing the boy’s back as he grew heavy in his arms. “Surely we can take another few months to celebrate it now. There will still be plenty of rebuilding left to do when we come back.”

Mary watched her men, both so relaxed and content in the present moment: Jed’s face, free of the worry lines that typically always creased it, a different man somehow, lighter, younger, freer; and Elias’s, fully abandoned in the trust of this father he had missed and cried for in so many never-ending, gruelling post-battle days, where the hospital would not release its hostages until too late at night, if she did, and not instead a messenger bearing a note of apology. So many nights when the boy would finally, unwillingly accept sleep only if found in the warmth and comforting scents of his parents’ bed, with his mother clutching his small hand, humming the same lullaby until neither words nor sounds made any sense. This struggle could all be in the past, while the sweet sight before her could become their new present for months and months to come and whenever laid further, if only she would agree.

“Fine,” she finally yielded, and the sound of her answer stirred a flutter in both of their hearts. “I’ll take you up on that family “honeymoon”, but that second outrageous wedding idea is complete nonsense – yes, nonsense, and I am most definitely arguing with you about that now. The one we had was quite enough.”

Jed groaned. “It was a rushed, name-saving, borderline shotgun travesty of an affair.”

She lied down next to him, her chin coming to rest upon his shoulder, her hand upon their son’s, who beamed them a beatific smile before yawning widely and settling deeper in their embrace. “It was a sensible, mid-war, friend-supported, perfectly appropriate affair, for it gave us the chance to have all of this. I wouldn’t change it for the world, and I most definitely would not waste a single penny on trying to best it. Besides, we can have Champagne and  _foie gras_  in France.”

The crease returned to Jed’s brow. “I don’t recall France being on the itinerary…”

“Maybe add one more stop, then. You did tell me I could get any church I want: well, I’d like a French Gothic cathedral. Just as visitor, of course. I always wanted to see Chartres or Amiens.”

“And Notre-Dame, I expect,” he said. “But very well; if that’s what it takes for you to finally show some careless irresponsibility and travel half-across the world with me, I’ll gladly trade my pyramids for your cathedrals and we’ll go to France. Not in winter, though; please, still allow me my Adriatic Christmas, I do not have your Yankee countenance for cold, dark weather. And did I mention how much I looked forward to olives? I'll do so again: I'm very fond of olives. Purple ones, green ones, stuffed ones; even the shrivelled-up, sun-dried 'til black, excruciatingly salty ones, that go so well with a nice _rosé_ Provençal. At least, the French know wine, so it won't be a complete loss. They also know medicine. Now that I think of it, I would trust the French doctors to be the best trained to assist you in our future daughter’s delivery - yes, yes, I know, all in due time, let Nature take its course, who even needs doctors for childbirth, but another baby _will_ come to us when the time is right and it _will_ be a girl, that I am most certain of. And what time could be righter than on our celebratory honeymoon! We'd come home with an American son and a French daughter, ha! Imagine that! What could we name her? Eugénie? Joséphine? Thérèse… no, no Rs, no accents, the poor girl would have her name thoroughly massacred back in America. Still, imagine that, how serendipitous! To come back to France a husband and a father, so long after La Sorbonne, so many years ago, these young wild bachelor years – hmm, perhaps we don’t need to imagine _that._  It does make me think, I wonder what my former classmates are up to… perhaps Ducomte has finally managed to pass his neurology exams. He was the biggest dunce, we called him Ducon. You know, once, he actually …”

“Please Jed," she sighed. "Not again. Not now.”

“Why not? Elias loves my droning. Dr. Jedediah Foster's Liquid Voice Elixir: it's morphine for babies. Look.” Indeed, the boy had fallen into a heavy sleep, his cheek resting on Jed’s chest, his breath slow and regular. Tenderly, Mary ran her hand over the soft dark curls, smoothing the lone rebel that stuck stiffly out, before lifting her face to her husband, one eyebrow cocked suggestively.

“Because, if the baby is indeed sleeping, I can think of much better ways we could celebrate the war’s end rather than reminisce about your medically-challenged former colleagues.”

He met her gaze appreciatively. “There's that Phinney gleam again... Well, suddenly, so can I, Mrs. Foster, and for once, I don't think I'll need words to describe them.”

“Oh, but _those_ I’d very much like to hear. They are always so… inspiring.” She leaned forward to kiss him, slowly, fully, a promise of more to come, before pulling away and rising carefully so as not to disturb the toddler.“If you manage to put him down, I’ll be in the guest bedroom. Our honeymoon starts now.”

**Author's Note:**

> A shameless happy fluffy Phoster future fic. Don’t know why that popped in my brain. I was sure as heck it wouldn’t top 1K, but Jed’s monologues just keep on giving. Sorry tortoiseshells for the maritime clickbait my title surely provided!
> 
> Elias Foster was last seen in “Seven Years a Mother” and MercuryGray and middlemarch have both invoked him in more recent stories as well. He’s a little dude that looks exactly like Jed and Mary because Jed and Mary look very much alike (thank you, Rewatch, I had somehow never quite noticed before).
> 
> This couuuuuld technically be a series for other characters too. Most probably won’t, but couuuuuuuld. Just sayin’, if somebody else wants to give it a go. 
> 
> I don't know why I made Jed obsessed with olives but it's canon now.
> 
> Albert Niemann earned his Ph.D. from his dissertation on quantitative cocaine extraction and isolation from coca leaves in 1860. I'm sure Jed would have been an eager fan of this breakthrough. Mariani wine was commercialized in 1863 and was also a coca "tonic", so joke's on Mary.  
> https://eic.rsc.org/feature/cocaine-a-short-trip-in-time/2020119.article


End file.
